


you're so cold, but you feel alive

by luzlicious (Miss_Marigold)



Series: cold [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Marigold/pseuds/luzlicious
Summary: The cold was something that George struggled with, after the war.





	

Before even the first frost, George had been compulsively checking the sealing around the windows and doors, had bought heavy new curtains to block any drafts that did manage to creep through the windows, and had stashed at least four blankets in each room.

 

It wasn’t that Joe hadn’t noticed, but he didn’t remark on it. They all had their own ways to sort through the things they went through in the war, and if weatherproofing their apartment helped George, so be it.

 

\---

 

George also insisted that they both actually invest a pair of sturdy winter boots each, pestering the sales representative at the sporting goods store about the material quality and the length of the guarantee.

 

Sometimes George would massage Joe’s remaining foot, claiming Joe’s circulation must be poor, because _“Damn, your foot is like a block of ice, Joe!”_ He’d trail his fingers along Joe’s toes, counting them out loud, wiggling them back and forth.

 

Joe doesn’t know the words to reassure George that he doesn’t have even a chance of catching trench foot again, so he accepts the boots and the massages and keeps his mouth shut.

 

\---

 

It’s their first winter after the war, and the radiator is going full blast in their apartment, has been going full blast since the temperature began to drop in early November.

 

This time, Joe says something, because while they can afford this place, they don’t need to be paying that much on their heating bill, not when they’ve been talking about saving up to move across town. It doesn’t go well.

 

_“I’m just saying, turn it down a few degrees! It’s way too hot in here!”_

_“And I’m just saying, I like it like this, so forget it, Joe!”_

_“We’re going to be paying an arm and a leg on the next bill just because you won’t grab a goddamn blanket and remember that we’re not in fucking Bastogne!”_

Joe had realized instantly that he had fucked up, and the righteous anger that had been ballooning up in his chest quickly deflated. George had turned towards the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles nearly as white as the snow drifting down outside.

 

_“I’m sorry, that was fucked up.”_

 

_“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”_

 

\---

 

They gave each other some space that night. Joe stuck to sitting at the kitchen table, eyes scanning the same page of the newspaper but gleaning no real information from it. Luz had taken up the living room, and the faint buzz of the radio weather station drifted through the otherwise silent apartment.

 

The radio clicked off eventually, long after the winter sun had set. Joe heard some shuffling footsteps down the hallway to their room, their bedroom door opening, the rattling dresser drawers being opened and closed. He waited some length of time, long enough for the varying sounds of movement in the bedroom to quiet before he made his approach.

 

The bedroom door was ajar, although the lights were off.

 

Joe shucked off his clothes with disregard, climbing into his side of the bed. He hadn’t been sure if he was allowed to touch Luz, to curl up around him as they always did. George’s back was to him, scooted farther than normal towards his own nightstand. He’d take that as answer enough.

 

Joe tossed and turned a few times, before finally settling on his back, hands laid on his chest, unable to shake the feeling of wrongness from his chest.

 

_“Don’t think I ever told you about the shell that hit my foxhole.”_

 

Joe’s head turned sharply, sucking in a large breath through his nose, eyes wide open all of a sudden.

 

 _“It was after I saw Skip and Penkala get blown up. Jumped into a foxhole with Lip to hunker down.”_ A pause. _“Watched the shell hit the side of our fox hole.”_ A breath. _“It was a dud, obviously, else I wouldn’t be here.”_

 

Joe found himself struck with a sense of speechlessness that he’d started to become used to. The words escaped him, but he propped himself up on an elbow, reaching a hand to George’s shoulder, gently pulling it towards him until George was laying on his back. He wouldn’t look at Joe.

 

 _“I had never felt quite so close to death before, Joe. In the forest, in the cold.”_ George had stayed staring at the ceiling, but his hand moved to rest on top of Joe’s.

 

_“I just remember I didn’t want to die being so cold, Joe.”_

 

George’s eyes finally moved to Joe’s, and the desperate remnants of fear gave his normally warm eyes a distant glaze. Joe closed the remaining distance between them on the bed, wrapping his arms around George’s torso, dropping his head to George’s shoulder, letting his mouth simply press against the skin there.

 

_“It’ll be okay, George. We’ll keep plenty warm, just you see.”_

 

\---

 

Maybe one day they’d move away from Philly, somewhere further south, somewhere where the temperature never dipped below fifty degrees, even in the winter. To a place where George wouldn’t feel the need to weatherproof everything, and they’d wear flip-flops instead of boots, and there wouldn’t be a heating bill in sight.

 

Maybe that wouldn’t fix the dreams that plagued them both, the dreams of bursting trees and freezing fingers and digging foxholes, but it’d be something.

 

Anything to escape the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Took a crack at something a bit more serious, love to hear your thoughts as always.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @luzlicious if you're interested.


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